


Lone Soldier

by PrimeAutobots



Series: Military AU [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Death, Human AU, Military AU, Other, War, breakdown - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-22 02:53:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12471848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrimeAutobots/pseuds/PrimeAutobots
Summary: If only he had seen it coming...





	Lone Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I originally wrote for a writer's competition earlier in the year. This is the re-written version, my second try because the first had too many errors on war. 
> 
> It was written first with Transformers in mind but changed to be more original for the competition. I decided to finally go back and out those changes back in, using a separate document, and finally post this. 
> 
> Written in the same Military AU as ‘Reunited’, you don’t have to read ‘Reunited’ to understand this, but it is preferable. 
> 
> Transformers belongs to Hasbro, this wasn't written for profit purposes.

Over two thousand soldiers had drawn their guns and charged onto the battlefield. The battle had been quick but brutal. The sky was grey, no sun shone down on the fields and trenches. Smoke rose to the sky from still burning remains of tanks, jets and vehicles. Bodies and weapons littered the area towards which one soldier walked.

He searched for survivors but it was in vain. Every soldier had been killed in those last five minutes, the blast had been too strong. An accident had occurred with the bombing jets, of both sides, causing an explosion. His team, and himself, had been outside of the blast radius, but not the shockwave radius. 

The shockwave had blown apart their small shelter, where they had commanded the battle. None of his team had survived the collapse. He would give anything to turn the clock back five minutes. 

His rifle was slung over his back, held there by the strap, and his uniform was ripped and covered in blood. A bandage, once pristine and white, was wrapped around his arm, from a wound early in the battle treated by one of his team. Wounds covered his form, most untreated and all ignored. His face was blank as he fought to keep his emotions at bay.

The land was empty. The only sounds were those of the wind and his military boots as they hit the ground. Dog tags hung from one of his hands, collected from the bodies of his allies. Names, and ID’s, were engraved in each one, an engraved symbol on the other side. A symbol that looked like a face, frowning and glaring at all. The symbol matched those that adorned each of his shoulders, and his own dog tags which hung around his neck. 

Slowly, he covered the distance from the trenches to the middle of the battlefield. Climbing through ditches and bomb craters in the process. He headed towards a hill, which no side had claimed, and showed no signs of battle. A single tree sat in the middle of the hill, looking over the battlefield.

He stood under the tree and bent to one knee. A combat knife was removed from one of his pocket and used to carve names into the tree. The names which were engraved on the dog tags. Only a fraction of the names on the dog tags made up the two thousand that had rushed into battle. And one by one they were carved into the tree.

As lead tactician, and Second in Command of the army, he knew everyone by name. Every one of the two thousand soldiers that had drawn their weapons for a war they would not win. Every name was carved into the tree. Even the names of those he had known from the opposition; a symbol of remembrance.

The symbol of his side was carved on one side of the tree, and on the other the symbol of the opposition. Another face like one, but this time sharper and giving the death glare to all. Under the flags were the names of the dead. The names of those who had lost their lives in the accident and battle. The words “Lest we Forget” we carved above each flag and wrapped around the tree.

He rose from his position on the ground and snapped to attention, his hand raising to his forehead in a salute. He stood like that for two minutes before turning and making his way back down the hill.

He buried every soldier he could, no matter the side, with a piece of wood stabbed into the ground at the head. The dog tags of those buried there wrapped around the wood. He used ditches and bomb craters for mass graves.

With each soldier buried, more of his block on his emotions broke. He didn’t know what to do, he just knew it needed to stop. Grave after grave after grave, he was tired of burying his friends. When finally his strength gave out from physical exhaustion, the block broke.

He crashed to his knees as tears gushed down his cheeks. His body shook with sobs, as a harsh and violent keen left him, echoing over the empty battlefield. It was too much. If only he had of seen it coming, if only he had calculated a way to save his soldiers before it was too late. 

It seemed like hours before he calmed enough to activate his distress signal. He knew he should have activated it earlier but he couldn’t care less. He had needed to try and send off all the dead in a respectable way. 

He ignored the ping the device made to confirm backup was on its way, instead he heaved himself to his feet.

He was dreading telling his superior, the rest of the army and the families of those killed the news, but it would be even worse not to.

He walked back up the hill and sat under the tree, looking over the many graves and the empty battlefield, which still had bodies littering it. He picked up his dog tags from his neck and ran his thumb over the engraved details, ignoring all but his first name; “Chase” the lone survivor of the battle. His name would make it onto the history pages that described the battle. The dead wouldn’t be so lucky. 

The sound of a shuttle’s engines cut his thoughts short. He rose and walked down the hill. With one final salute, he left the battlefield. He would remember every last name of those who had died, and he would pass on the story of the battle.


End file.
